Crossbreed and Company
by Cecero
Summary: A young Priscilla discovers a strange boy in the Archives.
1. chapter 1

**A.N. Originally part of another fic. Moved to suit storyline.**

From it's construction, the Duke's Archives have served as a library, college, forum, and home, all at once. Impossibly large, with intricate mazes of shelves that led scholars old and new astray, the Archives once had a homely feel, a feeling of welcome, warmth, and security.

However, deep within the mazes of books, unbeknownst to all but the most trusted of the duke's aides, lay dark, twisted secrets, secrets that defied the very order of life itself. Experiments intended to artificially preserve the First Flame had turned into something sick and unspeakable, borne of suspicion and paranoia.

Seath was no fool. He knew that the moment his usefulness could no longer atone for his horrendous experiments, he would be slain as quickly and easily as the rest of his kin. The only way to prevent Lord Gwyn from doing so would be to kill him first, an act widely considered impossible.

To that end, Seath was willing to do that which was repulsive to him. An act so disgusting to him, in both the execution and result, that bile would rise in his throat from the mere thought of it. But necessity is the father of invention, to use a rather apt metaphor. So, Seath had done the depraved, the disgusting, the unseemly, the unthinkable.

Seath had sex.

Decades of research, years of experimentation, months of painful body modification, weeks of courting, and seconds of actual intercourse were all struggled through by the scale-less monstrosity. Through an act considered unnatural, an unnatural thing was born. To be more precise, an unnatural _person_ was born; LHC-01, _Draconis Vita-Venari._ Or, to use the name given by her mother, princess Gwynevere, Priscilla. (Seath still insisted his assigned title was better.)

With the immortality to weild a weapon that drained the life of all near it, and the innate magic power to actually use it: from the moment of conception, this was a living weapon, a flesh-and-blood force of nature in an adorable, inconspicuous package.

Priscilla was a kind and obedient little girl, but her innate curiosity (passed on to her by her father, no doubt) drove her to much mischief. The librarians would oft discover a pile of books with a wailing crossbreed underneath them; Priscilla would attempt to climb and retrieve a tome that caught her eye, only to fail and be buried under a mound of books.

Her inquisitiveness was constantly warring with her common sense, and one need only look to a wailing pile of books to know the victor.

On one particular spring midmorning, Priscilla had fancied a read whilst eating breakfast. Or at least, that was her intent. As one could imagine, things did not turn out as planned.

And so, not for the first time, nor the last, Priscilla lay huddled under a mound of tomes, bruised and breakfast-less.

Pushing aside a copy of _How to Pick Up Fair Maidens,_ (Priscilla wrinkled her nose) she reached forward, summoning all of her strength and digging through a mountain of ink and paper. Taking a short rest, her ears perked up as a muffled voice reach them.

"See boy, these uptight noblemen are just the same as us, all messy. We got piles o' fish, they got piles of books, and at the end of the day, you can't eat books."

 _Yes you can,_ thought Priscilla.

"Yes you can," a younger voice mirrored her. "You could boil the leather bindings and eat them."

"So why bother reading it?" The gruff voice asked.

"Because you can't learn it by eating it."

"Then why would you eat it?!"

"...I don't know."

Hearing the voices grow closer, Priscilla weakly shuffled more books aside, a quite difficult task for a breakfast-less crossbreed.

Priscilla cleared her throat. "E-E-Excuse me! If it's not too much trouble, might you, m-might you please help me out from under _th-th-th-EEP!_ "

Without any warning, a small yet muscled arm thrust into the pile, seizing her about the wrist and giving her a mighty heave. Books were sent flying, and Priscilla flew out of the books like a cork from a bottle. In a whirlwind of fluff, paper, dust and leather, she tumbled into the boy who helped her, sending him careening to ground and pinning him underneath her.

Torn bits of paper fluttered down around them, and they seem to hang in midair when she looked upon his face.

Despite their similar size, the boy looked to be much older, perhaps one-and-ten to Priscilla's seven. His face looked to be losing some of its youthful cherubic-ness,

and he was well toned for one his age. His rough-spun tunic was coated in the heavenly scent of smoked salmon, and Priscilla's tummy grumbled at the thought her favorite food. The boy stared at her, his eyes transfixed on hers, captivated by the jade vertical pupils, flicking up to the horns that peppered her brow.

Priscilla was bewildered by this strange creature. He was smaller, for one, smaller than any person she had ever seen. Pehaps this was a 'child hooman' from the city? Yes, that must be it.

"You are a small hooman," Priscilla stated matter-of-factly.

The boy's nostrils flared. "No I'm not!"

The older man with him winced. "He don' like that pointed out." His hair and beard were pale grey and bushy, flecked with streaks of black and brown. The boy, likely his offspring, had a full head of long black hair, damp and flecked with snow from the beginnings of a raging blizzard.

He wriggled underneath Priscilla, and she fell to the side with a squeak. He sprung to his feet, dusting fluff off of his tunic. "Mean little fluff-ball. Let's go, Da."

His father gave him a stern glare. "Ain't you forgettin' somethin'?"

The boy looked at him blankly, and his father rolled his eyes. "Just stay here with the wee fluffy miss. This' a lucrative job, bringin' seafood each week. T'would do you good to have a friend for once."

"But Da!"

"No buts! Or I'll tan yours for bein' a bad example to the Princess."

"Princess?"

"Aye. That 'Fluff-ball' is daughter to lady Gwynevere, and worth your weight in diamonds. Now run along."

He trundled along the aisle, fish cart in tow as the two children looked at each other curiously. Walking forward, the boy grabbed hold of Priscilla's stub of a horn, pulling on it.

Priscilla squeaked, her horn twinging a bit. And so poor Priscilla bore the brunt of the boy's curiosity, being poked and prodded.

One of the Librarians snickered quietly, watching from behind her desk.

"Karmic justice, Young Mistress Priscilla.

Karmic justice."


	2. Oxytocin

Weeks passed, and Priscilla learned that child hoomans are very strange creatures indeed. Her new friend apparantly wasn't good at communicating, as he didn't know how to talk about his emotions. He would get flustered around young female librarians. Oddest of all, he had a strange obsession with her tail, stroking it happily without notice.

She had gotten angry at him, but the two quickly worked out an agreement; one small salmon for thirty minutes of petting. Priscilla learned that having her tail pet felt quite good, and it quickly became her favorite feeling.

"Prisla, what are you reading?"

Priscilla sighs. "My name is _Priscilla!_ I showed you how it was spelled!"

"But it was spelled 'Prisla.' The 'C' makes a _kuh_ sound."

Priscilla sighs once more, giving up. "Fine. I am reading a book about biology."

Hooman (As Priscilla had taken to calling him) looked over her shoulder at the book. "What's that word?"

"Eh... Ox-see-toe-sin."

"Is that when you kick a bull in the eye?"

"No, silly. It's a little thing in your head that makes you feel good."

"Oh. I like feeling good. How do you make it?"

Priscilla's tail twitched in concentration. "It says your brain makes it when you... 'Have intimate physical contact with someone you like.'"

"What does that mean?"

"I think it means hugging a friend."

"Oh." Hooman's brows furrowed. Blushing, he faced her. "Do you... Wanna try it?"

Priscilla blushes back. "A-a-alright..."

The two scooched closer, akwardly avoiding eye contact. Slowly, their arms wrapped around each other's midsection, squeezing.

"Ah," Hooman sighed. His muscles relaxed, and blissful contentment washed over him. Smiling, he leaned his head against Priscilla's shoulder. Priscilla closed her eyes, burrowing in closer, her fur tickling her friend's chin. Her tail wagged happily as she reveled in the warmth and comfort.

* * * * * * *

"Well, would you look at that," A passing librarian commented. The two children had fallen fast asleep, snuggled up against each other. "Something tells me those two will grow up to be much more than friends."


End file.
